Il Passato Della Volpe
by TheDarkDoctor
Summary: Every person has a past. Every character, a backstory. The fox keeps his own to himself, but it is still not something he can hide or run away from, no matter how hard he tries. It shines in his eyes from the core of his soul, and it becomes part of what made him who he is. La Volpe cannot forget his own, nor can he suppress it any long.


a/n I'm sorry I just felt the need to put in my two cents of what La Volpe's past is like. Anyhow, I gave him a small family, so let's cut the chit chat and start.

Disclaimer: I'm not Canadian.

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Gilberto Da Monticello looked down at his reflection in the unmoving water of the pond just little out of his village. It was small village that technically had no name, so everyone called it Monticello, which simply meant "mountain". This was where everyone in his family was born. His father was born an illegitimate child, which is why Gilberto's family name was "Da Monticello" instead of something fancy like Lovezzano. The ten-year-old's family was one of the poorest in the village.

It hadn't always been that way. Gilberto's father, Adino Da Monticello, was actually once a rather successful tailor. Gilberto didn't really remember it, but his two older siblings, Gavino and Rosetta remembered just a little. The twins had been four when the shop burnt to ground, whereas Gilberto was three. Alessandro hadn't even been born yet. Their father had tried for a little while, but a few months after Gilberto had turned four, their mother, Pietra, had died after giving birth to Gilberto's younger brother, Alessandro. Adino had been absolutely crushed, and given up on being a tailor. Now he spent almost all day drinking and gambling.

"Gilberto!" He turned to see his younger brother running over to him. The six-year-old sat down next to him, rambling on about how a cat had stolen a piece of fish from the market right before his eyes. Gilberto smiled, listening quietly. He was almost always quiet. He preferred to listen and observe. People learned more that way. He frowned, seeing a bruise on the side of his younger brother's face. Apparently he had disobeyed Gilberto and gone to see their father, whom blamed Alessandro for the death of his wife, who had in fact always been a sickly woman.

The two brothers were the only ones that took in anyway after their mother. All the siblings had the same purple eyes as their father, but the twins also had his straight brown hair. The two younger siblings shared curly black hair, just like their mother had possessed.

"Alesso," Gilberto interrupted the boy, using his nickname. Alessandro paused, looking up in keen attention. "Did I not warn you not to go around father." Alesso looked down, his eyes fogged over with guilt. Gilberto sighed, wrapping an arm around him. "It does not matter. You have never listened to me anyhow."

"I'm glad you've at least come to realize that, fratello," the younger brother laughed. The two of them stood, walking away from the pond. Alessandro hummed a tune to himself and Gilberto closed his eyes, once again deciding to listen instead of join in. He knew when to talk, and he had found he was actually rather charismatic. He simply preferred to be silent, and often alone. The only people who wouldn't leave him alone were his siblings, but he figured that was merely their responsibility to irritate him. "Come, time to go back to the house. Rosetta will likely be worrying about you."

"No," Alessandro whined. Gilberto rolled his eyes. He didn't understand while the child didn't like being inside. He wasn't overly fond of it, but Alessandro made such a scene about it. "I want to stay outside!"

"Well, you can stay outside," Gilberto began. Alesso looked at him hopefully. "However, I'm going to the house. So have fun staying outside all night fratello." Alessandro looked conflicted. Gilberto thought for a moment the boy would actually stay outside and Gilberto would have to carry him inside, because he knew his older sister would kill him for leaving the youth outside all alone. However, Alessandro eventually ran after him, falling in step behind him. Gilberto smirked. How could he forget that worked every time. Alessandro was like a dog, following his brother everywhere. "Good choice, cucciolo." There were many nicknames for Alessandro, but Gilberto could claim a few of his own. There was of course pezzo di merda, which was what his father called him and Alesso, and it meant piece of shit. Gilberto didn't take it to heart though. His father was a bastardo.

People around the town weren't overly fond of him either. They had taken to calling him "volpino", basically "little fox". There were many reasons for that. He had been told of his constant mischievous, tight lipped smile and keen eyes. He was once told his brother, Gavino, that his eyes were "violet pools filled a knowing, cunning glint that made people uncomfortable". He didn't mean it. He couldn't help what his eyes conveyed. He also would steal, whether it be food or money. He was very adept at it as well, and was able to steal someone's money from almost under their nose.

He loved money.

The moment the pair walked into the house, they noticed the worried look on Rosetta's face, and the utterly pissed off one on Gavino's. Gilberto hid Alessandro from Gavino's sight, sending to run off to Rosetta. Gavino had an uncontrollable temper, and while Rosetta was the best at dealing with him, Gilberto had sent the youngest to go help Rosetta calm. The eleven-year-old girl reacted well to children. Gilberto walked up to Gavino, who was standing in front of an empty jar, breathing heavily and straight brown hair spiking up in an uncontrolled rage.

Gavino worried Gilberto. He was very much like their father, and their father wasn't a nice person to anyone. He could read that familiar glint in the elder's eyes. It was one of a resisted violence. He felt sympathetic for his elder brother. The boy had an on going struggle in his head between kindness and hate. Gilberto did not know if one day he may crack and kill someone. As much as he wished he could, he wouldn't put his past his brother.

"What happened," he asked cautiously. He kept his distance from the taller boy, not wanting to be caught in any of Gavino's tantrums. Rosetta had a very similar temperament, however she reigned it in much better. Gilberto tread lightly, analyzing Gavino's face for any changes or twitches. He had been beaten by his brother plenty of times before. Not as many times as he had his father, but enough times where he knew that he needed to be careful when unseen embers glowed from under his brother's skin.

"It's all gone," Gavino breathed. Gilberto's keen ears managed to pick up the words, but Gavino was whispering, obviously at least attempting to control himself. Gilberto appreciated that. Being the middle child and peacemaker, he very much appreciated that.

"What is?"

"All of our money." Gilberto's breath stopped for a moment. He had taken it all. All the worth their family had to it's name. He could say it to himself in one thousand different ways, but he would never be able to feel the shock that was meant to accompany the situation. He felt no anger, no fear. His breath merely stopped because he understood the reaction he was meant to convey. However, he could no longer be surprised when their father screwed them over. He was just no longer feel anything but a sick acceptance that this was now his situation, and it always would be, for there was no escape for the thieving son of a jobless bastard. Gavino, however, did not share this acceptance of a situation with nothing to offer, but he did not see one that did. All he saw was red, like blood dripping over his eyes into the vacuum that was his heart and soul.

Gavino had no time for these things, and Gilberto understood why. He was the eldest of four young siblings with no mother and a father who half the time failed to recognize his own children, particularly his two younger. When he did recognize them, they could only wish he did not, for recognition was accompanied by anger, harsh words, and bruises and cuts lasted sometimes lasted for weeks at a time. Even though all he wanted to do was make it stop, to rescue them from this hell fate had cruelly thrusted them into, all Gavino could do was watch as the light was slowly ripped out of the violet flowers that donned his siblings' faces.

Gilberto, however, had other things he needed to worry about. One of which was in fact avoiding the wandering, brutish hands of his father. He did enjoy being able to walk and having his wits and senses about him. He had been near crippled before, and while he had healed quickly, he hated loosing his ability to move.

He needed to run, constantly. He loved the feel of the wind running through his hair, biting at his cheeks and dancing in his ears, creating sweet, serenading music from it's padded, silent footsteps. He wanted to dance with it and never stop, falling into an unending twirl, like the leaves from trees as autumn fell into the cold of winter, being buried by a blanket of snow, where are left to die in peace, only to be reborn in to growing buds of spring.

Sometimes he wished he could die and be left alone in a dark world where no one could hurt him anymore. There'd be no money worries because there would be no money. He would never worry of being beaten or tormented because in the world he had created for himself there was no pain. There was only the songs of the breeze as his feet ran like the rivers flowing around his village and danced like the ripples that skipped across their surfaces, and he wouldn't ever be forced to stop.

This is what he imagined death would be like, freeing and when it came, he would welcome it with open arms. Until then, he had his priorities. He had siblings to care for, a father to avoid, and he still needed to figure out how he would survive this time he was alive.

He would survive his life, and go out peacefully when his time came. Perhaps other people thought differently, but deep down, he figured they'd all agree.

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Wow I did not actually mean to make him that emo. Or the chapter this long. ...I like describing things.


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